Shadowplay

I'm not thinking of you this morning
I'm memorizing poetry—Neruda—
constructing a necklace of words:
from stones with the power of forgetting.

​

(We shed our clothes like corn husks, fast
not caring about broken zippers or pulled hair.)

I won't be remembering you today
Doing laundry—whites and off-whites—
I watch my reflection in the dryer door:
Behind, panties swirl a freak storm.

(We fell backwards as one, taking a leap
of faith that the bed would be there.)

I'm not thinking of you this afternoon
I'm going to the movies—Tarkovsky, I guess—
I'll eat licorice, sink low in my seat, feet
riveted to the ubiquitous.

​

 I won't be thinking of you this evening

—Cocktails at seven with the Harry Ngs— 
Barbara knows this quiet, tasteful place where
we'll speak in low voices of ordinary things.

(We moved very slowly, as if underwater,
drowning, but knowing of an afterlife)